


On Tenterhooks

by BoxWineConfessions



Series: NSFW Yurio Week 2017 [2]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: F/M, Rough Oral Sex, Yuri fails at being a bastard boyfriend, ends up being the nice guy Mila cries on every time, unapologetically bi Yuri Plisetsky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-12
Updated: 2017-09-12
Packaged: 2018-12-27 05:36:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12074547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BoxWineConfessions/pseuds/BoxWineConfessions
Summary: If it’s a fucking asshole Mila wants, then Yuri is more than happy to provide. He doesn’t return her calls until she comes to his apartment red in the face and ready to lift his bike over her head.  Yuri finds it incredibly easy to act this way. He’s been called a fag ever since he was a kid.  He skates around in fucking sequined costumes, and sometimes swear to god, he forgets he has a fucking dick between his legs. It’s a genuine surprise sometimes when he sees it hard and pressed against whatever piece of shitty spandex he’s wearing.Written for NSFW Yurio Week 2017





	On Tenterhooks

**Author's Note:**

> For best results put on "Tenterhooks" by Orange Juice, and think about masculinity for a minute.

If it’s a fucking asshole Mila wants, then Yuri is more than happy to provide. Yuri finds it incredibly fucking easy. He picks up a leather jacket when he’s out shopping with Otabek. He buys a Ducati when he picks up an endorsement deal. Then, he doesn’t return her calls until she comes to his apartment red in the face and ready to lift his bike over her head. 

Yuri finds it incredibly easy to act this way. Then again, why wouldn’t it be? He’s been called a fag ever since he was a kid. He can remember his mother putting his hair into pigtails with little pink bows. He skates around in fucking sequined costumes, and sometimes swear to god, he forgets he has a fucking dick between his legs. It’s a genuine surprise sometimes when he sees it hard and pressed against whatever piece of shitty spandex he’s wearing.

When he finally gets to act like a man, it’s never any of that abstract bullshit that grandpa mulls over with a pipe at the end of the day.  “Manhood isn’t something given to you Yurachka,” followed by matchstick. Tobacco meets flame, and only when the room is filled with clouded black smoke does he continue, “it’s something you gain. It’s something earned.” Of course, he says this whenever he comes home and he screams that he’s sick of bodysuits that make him look like a teenage girl. He’s sick of hawking lipstick just to keep the lights on, and he doesn’t fucking understand how people like Otabek can get on the ice and dance about just like him and still seem infinitely cooler.

When he finally gets to act like a man it’s clunky, and it’s awkward, and he mostly just does what he sees in the movies combined with what he sees Mila’s ex boyfriends do.

So, he tears down her street at midnight on the Ducati and kills the engine. Desperately, he tries to pretend that he doesn’t have a shopping sack filled with cookies, chips, and her favorite trash mag, all to make up for the fact that she’s been dumped. Again.

Yuri hears the door unlock with a _clink-thunk_. “Asshole,” Mila looks like hell. Her face is all puffy and red. Her eyes are glassy from crying. Her hair looks frizzy, as if she’s been tousling it against her pillows restlessly for hours on end. “I text you hours ago.”

“Get off my ass. Something came up.” Yuri struts inside and peels off his riding gloves. Nonchalantly, he tosses the bag for Mila onto the bar that separates the kitchenette from the living room.

“Uh-Huh. Call from Almaty.” Even when she looks like hell, she doesn’t look half bad. She’s wearing these little gray cotton boy shorts that are trimmed with lace, and hug her ass real tight. She’s wearing a matching camisole and he can see the outline of her nipples underneath the thin fabric.

“None of your business.” Yuri peels back his well-worn leather jacket. It’s dark maroon, and it looks real nice when she’s wearing it. It matches her hair. “I’m here now, aren’t I?” The time for smirking, and posing, and strutting about with his chest puffed out is over. He takes her into his arms, and she melts into his touch.

When she’s pressed up against him like this he can feel ever soft curve of her body like they’re secrets just for him. He can feel all the places where hard muscle melts into soft flesh, and he’s reminded that it’s a secret that not many are told. Mila’s lips are soft. She always smells good, even if they’ve been practicing all day. Even if her shirt’s been soaked through with sweat she still smells like bubblegum and perfume that comes from a crystal pink bottle.

Even though he’s pretty sure he spends 90% of his time thinking about and chasing after cock these days, there’s nothing that makes him feel harder, rougher, tougher than pushing Mila up against the wall and pinning her arms above her head.

So he does just that. He slots his mouth over hers, and doesn’t let her come up for air. Makes her breath into the kiss, moan into the kiss, and get lost in him so that she remembers that at the end of the day it doesn’t fucking matter. She can date whoever she wants, and she can fuck whoever she wants. She’s still fucking his.

Yuri pulls back only to bite her lip. He loves the way she gasps. He loves the way that she pulls back in a flinch, and then melts into him all over again when the sting fades to pleasure. Yuri threads his hands into her dark red hair and tugs her head backwards exposing her neck.

The fact of the matter is for the longest time he’d make himself jerk off to thoughts of her because she was the only girl he could remotely tolerate. Then, he was the annoying kid brother at the rink who never had a chance with her. So right _now_ she’s his _even_ if it’s just for a few fleeting moments before she’s off to the next meathead who knows how to be a man without even really trying.

Yuri knows he’s a fucking mess of teeth, and tongue, and lip. He knows that the sounds that he makes when he latches onto her neck and sucks hard are loud and embarrassing. He knows that in the morning when she’s got cold cream smeared around her swollen eyes and her robe pulled down low she’s gonna look at those marks and swear his name to filth.

But for now she just moans into every squelch-suck-pop he makes against her collarbone.

Yuri pulls back for a moment to admire his handiwork. She’s so pale, and she bruises so easily. The thumbprints on her hips and her ass and her ribcage will blend in with all the bruises from popped axels at the rink. These are special.

“You’re the fucking worst,” and then she gives him hell back in triplicate. Mila stops acting like this shy and heartbroken little girl, and unleashes the hell beast of the woman that has haunted his dreams now for years. She doesn’t fuck around, and bites the juncture where his neck meets his shoulder.

“Ah-“ Yuri’s hands are still threaded into her hair, and he pulls her tight. “Fucking bitch,” but he cranes his neck to give her more access. “Fucking stop.”

“Don’t want anyone to see?” she mouths against his neck before biting back down on the same abused patch of flesh.

“Yeah, I can’t just march around looking like a whore like you.”

“Afraid Otabek will see on one of your little Skype dates?” She traces the spot with her tongue, and he can feel her hesitate before she bites down again.

Yuri takes that split second to move his hands around her body, and throw her over his shoulder. It’s not really a surprise when he learns that she fucking loves that caveman bullshit.

“Yurrr-a,” she pounds against his back with weak and uninspired fists. “Lemme go.”

“Not a chance hag.” Yuri smirks into her hip and smacks her ass for good measure.

She yelps and nearly kicks him in the dick, and for a split second he wonders why he puts up with all this kiss-kiss slap-slap bullshit from her.

Then, he unceremoniously dumps her on the bed and looks at her. Really looks at her.

Her shirt is rucked up high, and her tits are spilling up out over the top of her camisole, and red and purple marks are blossoming all over her neck. She looks like something out of a meathead fantasy mag.  Yeah. That’s why.

“Are you gonna make it all go away Yura?”

“Something like that,” he says as he crawls up the bed and fists her shirt into his hands. It’s so thin that it rips like paper.

She’s so used to putting on a show for all the other assholes that she has the nerve to act surprised, scandalized even. “Yuri!”

“Whatever.” Yuri continues what he started in the living room. He marks his way down her chest, and cups her breasts while he does it. No matter how many times they fuck around he always wants to play with her tits. No matter how many times they fuck around she always scolds him for pinching too hard, or biting too hard, or just grinding his palm into them too hard, and now is no fucking exception.

“Seriously? Do you really think I called you over here for _that?”_  Right now he’s got two handfuls of breast, and he’s trying to greedily suck on her without letting go of her tit.

“Any fucking asshole off the street can just paw at you right?” he asks while rubbing his thumb over her nipple.

She rolls her eyes at him. “Come on, Yuri.”

“You’re so fucking greedy Mila.”

“Yuri,” she pouts. “I’m fragile right now.”

Yuri scoffs. “Seriously though.” He hooks his thumb under the elastic waistband of her shorts and peels them downward. “When was the last time you sucked my cock?”  He repeats the action with her panties, but doesn’t pull them down. He rips them away, just like her shirt.

“Um,” she responds in a tone that almost sounds bored. “Your birthday.”

“Yeah.” Yuri huffs. “Too fucking long,” but in reality he doesn’t care. Anybody can suck his fucking cock, just like anybody can grab her tits.

Yuri moves down her body, and makes sure to leave a big fucking mark on the crest of her hipbone. She couldn’t hide that one. An athlete doesn’t fall like that on ice. Then, he parts her legs and lets her rest them on his shoulders. “Don’t fuckin try to break my neck this time.” Mila does this thing where she clenches down and holds onto his fucking head between her thighs until he’s almost blue in the face. For as much as it pisses him off, it’s kind of hot too.

“But you’re so good Princess,” she says with a dry laugh.

“C’mon,” Yuri mouths against her thigh. “That shit doesn’t work against me anymore.” She used to do that a lot. Spurn him on by getting him where it hurt the most, his fragile sense of masculinity.

Yuri strokes her a few times with his fingers, over the outer labia across the soft red curls until she’s trying to kick him again. Yuri doesn’t skip a beat. He dodges her feet, and then he parts her gently. He caresses his fingers across her soft inner folds, just like she taught him to do when he was sixteen years old, and she had his hair up in sponge rollers.

“Do you prefer kitten?”

Yuri grabs her up by the hips, and dives in right away with his mouth. If Mila wanted an asshole, Yuri is more than willing to provide. He rakes his teeth across her lips, and then sucks on her clit like it’s a fucking cock. He just puts his whole fucking mouth onto it, and tries to put all the pressure on it that he can.

“Yu-ra,” no teasing, no bullshit, just Mila wanting more of him. So he repeats the action, pressure followed by teeth. This time, he grazes lightly against her clit until she’s squirming, and got her hands fisted into his hair. “Yu-ra too much,” but when does that ever stop him? He loves to tease her until tears are streaming down her already tear stained face. He loves to undo whatever the last asshole did and do it better than they ever could.

“Yuri,” but the silly hag doesn’t know what she’s asking for. Yuri sloppily licks a line over her hole across her clit, and goes right back at it. Teeth, pressure, frantic flicks of the tongue. Does she want him to stop?

Fuck no.

Yuri hooks a finger inside while he moves his mouth.

As if to prove his fucking point, he looks up her body and locks eyes with her. She stops fucking sobbing about how good he’s eating her pussy to blink at him with wide blue eyes. She looks damn fucking good though with her eyelashes all clumped together, and her eyes all glassy. He did that.

“More. Yuri I want more.”

“Fucking hag,” and then he hooks another finger inside.

Somedays he can’t believe he’s still fucking around with his childhood crush. Somedays, like today, he feels so fucking smug that he can bring her to the edge and pull her back over and over again. That’s exactly what he does too. He rubs her pussy until she’s clenching down on his fingers. He licks at her until she’s arched off of the bed. Then, he backs off. He always makes it seem real sweet too. He moves up her body to kiss her, or he pulls off of her clit and tells her, “kind of pretty for a hag.”

“Let me come,” she squeals against him.

“Dunno,” Yuri plunges his tongue inside of her hole in and out, and then pulls back when she starts mewling. “What’s the password?”

“Yuri is an asshole.”

“Try again. I’ll give you a hint. Who makes you feel better than all those other dickheads?”

“You.”

“My name is….?”

“Yuri.”

“That’s right,” he thrusts his fingers back in and scissors them wide. “Say it again.”

“Yuri.”

“Keep going. Don’t stop.”

He plunges back in a fury of motion and sensation that he knows will make her cum.

“Yur-aah.”

She arches her back high, and she clenches so tight. All of it makes him feel so good, even though she hasn’t done so much as touch his cock.

It’s only in those scant liminal moments after she’s come that he realizes he’s still fully clothed. He shucks them quickly, and pushes inside of her awkwardly, as if he hasn’t just spent the last thirty minutes touching her pussy.

It always feels so weird at first. It always feels so good. Where fucking into a man feels like tight overwhelming pressure, she just feels soft. It always lulls him into a false sense of security. Like he could last for forever. So he fucks her hard, and he fucks her fast, and he does it harder when she makes those soft little moans into his shoulder. He does it faster when she looks at him with a slack jaw and wide eyes.

She always looks at him like she’s surprised that he can fuck like this, even though they’ve done it countless times.

Yuri dreams of lasting longer and folding her into every position imaginable. But now, much like so many other times they’ve done this, he ends up coming inside of her while she’s on her back and he’s on top. How fucking lame. When he feels the low rolling waves churn in his gut, he presses down onto the big ugly bruises he left on her neck and on her collarbones. Even if this is ending too soon, she’s gonna remember. He did this to her. He made her feel this way.

Afterward, Yuri brings her a hot towel. He brings her the cookies that he brought. He runs down to the store to get her a carton of ice cream to help her burn off her frustration, and he doesn’t even say a word about how she shouldn’t.

If Mila wanted an asshole, he clearly isn’t it. That’s why it never lasts.


End file.
